


The First of Many

by TheAllKnowingOwl



Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Do not repost, Fluff, Gen, Redwall Abbey, Redwall Secret Santa 2019, do not repost to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21952246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAllKnowingOwl/pseuds/TheAllKnowingOwl
Summary: Gonff and Gonflet’s first heist together.
Relationships: Gonff & Gonflet, Gonff & Martin the Warrior (Redwall)
Kudos: 9





	The First of Many

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift for smallbutplucky on tumblr. Your requests were:
> 
> 1) Gonff pinching a treat out of the kitchen at Redwall with Gonflet
> 
> 2)Lord Brocktree and Dotti having a picnic on their journey
> 
> 2)Martin and Gonff spending time together
> 
> And I’ve combined 1 & 2. Enjoy and merry Christmas!

“Gonflett? Gonflett, matey?” A gentle paw shook the Dibbun from his slumber. “Wake up, matey.”

“Mmmmm- Dad?” Gonflett roused finally, rubbing his eyes. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“No time for that, my little mousethief!” his dad whispered, smiling roguishly. “Now come on!”

Yawning, Gonflett stumbled off after his father, barely sidestepping the other beasts bustling through the Great Hall. It was just after lunch: his dad knew he always napped after noontide! Why had he disturbed him!?

“ _ Daaaad _ ,” the Dibbun moaned, pulled along by the larger mouse. “Why-“

Suddenly, the other mouse pulled him sharply into an alcove, hiding them behind a curtain, as a flour-pawed cook rushed by. Tiredly, Gonflett noticed his father was leading them down to the kitchen.

“Not now, matey,” his dad replied, peering round the corner for people, a roguish grin appearing once he realised the coast was clear. “Let’s go!”

Unsuccessfully stifling giggles, the tiny mouse raced to keep up with his father’s longer strides as they hurried through the twisting passageways of Redwall Abbey. Finally, they came to a halt, hiding in a natural hiding place where a twist in the corridor met a doorway. Enticing smells of the lunch that had come before still drifted through the modest archway.

The kitchen of Redwall Abbey stretched out before them. Washing up finished mere minutes before, the great expanse of what was normally full of chatter and banter was deserted. The hissing pans and methodical chopping of the prepping stations would not return for several hours, when dinner would start.

The entire room was drenched in the rich sunlight pouring in through the wide open windows.

“Now, matey, you see that table there?” his dad whispered softly, peering around the corner before ducking back into the alcove. Quickly, Gonflett poked his head round too, spotting the sturdy piece. “That used to stand in the kitchens of Brockhall. During the woodland siege, old Betty Brownears- one of the Loamhedge mice-“ he explained swiftly, seeing Gonflett’s confused gawp. “Stowed some of the fabled Loamhedge honey in some secret compartment. Now she went to the Dark Forest many seasons ago, and we all thought it was lost, until  _ I _ found this handy riddle…”

At this he produced a sheet of bark, with tiny writing scratched into one side. Gonflett squinted at it, but was unable to read the scribbly letters.

“ _ Liquid sun from danger run _ ,” his dad read. “ _ Hides twixt lying burden and upright sort. Knock once, then twice, then find the knights who guard this sweetened ice _ .”

“Dad!” Gonflett gasped, his eyes shooting between the table and the older mouse. “Do you think that means the table!?”

“Well done, Gonflett, matey!” his father cheered him on quietly, ruffling the short hair between his ears. Suddenly, he was still once more, gazing at the heavy piece of furniture with focused eyes. “Now, if only I knew how to get that honey!”

“Hmmmmm…” Gonflett peeked around the wall, and scurried over to the table. Furtively, the mouselet scanned the room for intruders, then ducked under the table. Rolling across the floor, his father joined him, curling up tight to fit. “Aha!”

“What is it, matey?” 

“Look, Dad!” Gonflett crowed, pointing at one of the support beams of the table. “I’ve found it!”

And there it was: two crude helms facing each other were carved deeply into the heavy oak, roughly halfway between each leg. Given their position, they were only possible to see from where the duo crouched beneath the great table.

“I wonder how we’ll get in…” his father hummed, scratching his chin. “Why din’t you have a look, eh? I can’t see much with me ol’ eyes these days.”

Tongue poking out of his mouth, Gonflett scanned the area intensely, even rubbing his paws over the wood. Then he knocked.

Once, twice, the panel shifted under the pressure, and a thought occurred to him. Carefully, he pinched the space between the divots of the knights, and lifted the cleanly cut section out.

In the space where the panel once lay, sat a dusty jar of honey.

“You’ve done it, matey!” his dad whispered behind him proudly. A quick paw grabbed the honey from its hiding place, and then he was pulling Gonflett out from under the table with him. “C’mon!”

Snatching bread and a pat of butter from the side as they left, the duo raced to the walls, planning to enjoy this forbidden treat with an excellent view and hopefully without the cook finding them.  
  


-

Hours later, Gonff looked out at Mossflower Wood from the top of the wall, leaning on the parapet. Full of bread, and with honey smeared around his mouth, Gonflett snoozed behind him.

Today had been fun.

Carefully, Gonff hefted his sleeping son, starting for the abbey. The grounds were quiet as all made for the Great Hall: not even a loose Dibbun roamed the empty land. The birds in the orchard were settled in for the night- not a single sound was made. Gonfflet snored away against his shoulder quietly, and Gonff smiled down at him tenderly. He would collect the debris from their meal later.

Measured footsteps made him look up, unsurprised to see his friend there: he’d known Martin too long to be taken unawares by his steady pace.

“Your heist went well, I take it?” the Warrior asked, amusement clear in his quirked lips, carefully keeping his voice low as he saw the mouseling sleeping in Gonff’s arms.

“C’mon, matey! You know no bars or locks can keep the Princes of Thieves at bay!” Gonff chorused quietly, his carefree smile loosening into something gentler as he looked at his son. “This little Dibbun will keep ‘em all on their toes, and our practice heist made that all the clearer… He sped through the riddle like an otter for Shrimp ‘n Hotroot Stew. I’m proud of him.

“Still, it’s lucky ol’ Bella made that box- thought she could keep me out of her cheeses!”

“Sounds unlikely.”

“Nothing stops the Mousethief, matey.”

Martin chuckled quietly, before looking out over Mossflower, the late evening sunlight bathing him and the abbey in amber. Once more, Gonff mused on how his friend seemed to give more and more to Redwall each day.

“You know…” the Warrior mused, the dying light unable to hide the faraway look Gonff had seen increasingly often of late. “He may just become an even greater Mousethief than you, someday…”

  
  
  



End file.
